I spend most of the day hiding out in my room, pacing, unpacking a few things, and trying to figure out how I’m supposed to survive this. The idea of sharing a space with Devon feels more surreal by the minute. Every time I think about him out there, doing whatever smug, annoying things he does, my stomach twists with unease.
But eventually, hunger gets the better of me. As evening settles in, my stomach starts protesting so loudly I can’t ignore it anymore. With a reluctant sigh, I crack open my door and peek out into the living room.
To my surprise, the place looks... different.
The chaos from earlier is gone. The couch has been rearranged, the coffee table cleared off, and the boxes are stacked neatly in the corner. It’s unsettling how quickly Devon has made the place look like someone actually lives here, like he’s comfortable. Like it’s his space.
I creep further into the room, and that’s when I spot him in the kitchen, casually chopping vegetables, completely at ease.
Of course he is.
He looks up, and his eyes meet mine, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, there she is. Was wondering when you'd finally emerge from your cave.”
I ignore his snark, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I wasn’t hiding,” I mutter, though we both know that’s a lie.
Devon chuckles, turning back to the cutting board. “Sure you weren’t.”
My eyes flick around the room again, taking in the neatly arranged furniture. “You rearranged the place.”
“Yeah,” he says, throwing the chopped veggies into a bowl. “Figured it might as well look decent. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Does it matter if I do?” I shoot back.
He shrugs, not even bothering to look up this time. “Well, considering we’re sharing the space... kind of. But not really.”
Why am I not surprised? He has that laid-back, carefree attitude that screams he can’t be bothered by what anyone else thinks.
The sight of him cooking only intensifies the hunger gnawing at my stomach. And just as I try to hold it back, my stomach growls loudly, filling the silent space between us.
“Hungry?” Devon’s voice breaks the silence, though I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. “I’m making pasta, and there’s plenty to go around. You want some?”
The offer is tempting, I won’t lie. The smell of garlic and something savory fills the air, making my stomach twist in hunger. But I’m not about to fall for his nice-guy routine. Devon seems like the type who probably uses his kitchen skills to charm his way into... well, whatever it is he wants from girls. I’m not about to be part of that game.
“No, I’m good,” I say, walking toward the newly organized living room. My fingers trail across the fabric of the couch, taking in how neat everything looks. The mess from earlier is gone, replaced by a strange sense of order. It’s unnerving how easily he’s made himself at home.
I have to admit, though—it could be worse. At least he’s not a slob, and it’s clear he knows his way around the kitchen. Still, neatness and cooking skills don’t tell me much about his personality, and I’m not leaving anything to chance just because he knows how to clean up after himself.
Rules, dumbass, my brain chimes in, in her usual snarky tone. She’s right, of course.
I head to the fridge, pull out a bottle of water, and twist off the cap. After taking a long sip, I shut the fridge door with more force than necessary and turn to face him. “Look,” I start, “we can’t continue to live like this—us, in this awkward back and forth, and me, constantly on edge, wondering what ridiculous stunt you’re going to pull next.”
Devon pauses his chopping and wipes his hands on a towel, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not awkward at all, though,” he says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes before I can stop myself, barely holding back a groan. I don’t need to inflate his already massive ego. “What I’m saying is, we need rules.”
His face twists in mild annoyance, and I can tell he’s not thrilled with the idea. “Rules?” he repeats, like the word itself is some kind of offense. “I finished high school and moved out of my parents’ house, and now you’re trying to box me in with more rules?”
“Do I really need to explain how rules would make living here so much easier?” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
He leans back against the counter, that smirk still tugging at his lips. “Easier for who? You, or me?”
“Both of us,” I shoot back. “If we set some ground rules, we can avoid a whole lot of unnecessary drama.”
Devon sighs, clearly amused but not fighting me—yet. “Alright, fine. Let’s hear these rules of yours.”
“First off,” I say, pacing a little as I gather my thoughts, “we stay out of each other’s rooms. No exceptions.”
He gives me a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
I ignore the sarcastic tone. “Second, we split chores. I’m not cleaning up after you, and I don’t expect you to clean up after me.”
Devon raises an eyebrow but nods. “I’ve already cleaned the living room, but sure, we can keep it fair. What else?”
“Guests,” I say firmly. “If you’re going to have someone over, give me a heads-up. I don’t want to walk out and find random people in the apartment.” I'm already cringing in my mind at the random girls he could be bringing over.
His smirk widens. “Afraid you’ll catch me entertaining someone?”
“More like I don’t want any surprises,” I snap. “Same goes for me. If I have someone over, you’ll get the same courtesy.”
He grins, clearly enjoying himself. “Does that include if you bring a guy over? I mean, not that you—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” I cut him off with a glare.
Devon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Heads-up for guests. Got it. Anything else?”
I think for a second. “We communicate. If something’s bothering you, just say it. No passive-aggressive nonsense.”
He tilts his head, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure you can manage that one?”
I clench my jaw but refuse to rise to the bait. “I’ll be fine.”
There’s a brief pause, and then Devon nods, his expression more serious. “Alright. Ground rules set. Sounds fair.”
I exhale, relieved that we’ve reached some kind of understanding. Pulling out my phone, I quickly type up the rules, needing them in writing so there are no excuses later. As I tap away at the screen, I feel Devon watching me.
“Typing up a contract?” he asks, his tone still annoyingly amused.
“Just making sure we’re both clear on the rules,” I reply without looking up. I hit save and slide the phone back into my pocket. “That way, you can’t pretend you forgot.”
“I’d never,” he says, hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “But hey, if it makes you feel better, go for it.”
I don’t bother responding. Instead, I cap my water bottle and head for the door. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Enjoy,” Devon calls after me as I step outside, the cool evening air hitting my face. I take a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill my lungs. The rules are in place, and that’s a start.
That's the problem though.
It's only the beginning.
YOU ARE READING
♧ THE BOY IN MY ROOM ♧
Romance"I thought you were different." I say through my sniffles. "How could you keep this from me?" His face falls as he watches her break before him. He approaches her. "Please..." He says, his own tears flow down his cheeks. "Let me -" "No." She cuts h...
